I love when an idea jumps out at me. I’ve been saying FOR MONTHS to Kyle that I wanted to get back into writing. I love writing. If you were to look at my desktop, I have about 5 unfinished “novels” that I swear up and down I’ll finish one day, and use my own money to publish. It’s just another thing that gets tacked up on my Dream Board.
“Well, why haven’t you been writing?”, he asked. He reads all my blog posts, whether he likes it or not. Mainly because I usually send him a rough draft before I publish it so he can tell me whether or not I need to add more curse words or take some out. He never suggests taking any out. That’s how I know we’re soulmates.
“I just don’t have any ideas!” I tell him, “I’ve put up polls, asked my previous readers, asked my viewers… Nothing “edgy” enough gets suggested. And I just don’t personally feel the need to jump into writing about female masturbation or the different ways to cook with Kale.” Although, I thought to myself, probably when I make it big, the masturbation topic will HAVE to come up because look at how fucking rich E. L. James is! Shes a normal looking women, not homely, but not beautiful. Shes slightly overweight, DEFINITELY box colors her hair, and has bangs that are not flattering for her face shape. Either she has an AMAZING sex life or has an imagination that doesn’t quit! Whoever said “sex sells” was clearly onto something. And considering I have ZERO shame in just about anything I do, masturbation (also, do you know how many times I’ve tried to spell that with an “E” instead of a “U”?) seems like a topic I’ll most definitely tackle later on in my writing “career”– the one I don’t have yet but keep telling myself I will.
“Why does it have to be edgy? What are some of the suggestions people make?” he asked, as he ate his Top Ramen straight from the pot he cooked it in.
(Yeah, now that I think about it, I could NEVER write about cooking with Kale. Everyone would catch on to the fact that I was just copy and pasting Pinterest recipes that I’ve never even tried, just so I could potentially be the next Gwyneth Paltrow.)
“They all want to know about confidence! How to find it, how to keep it, and how to feel like they are worthy of it! That’s just not something I feel “powerful” enough to write about. I mean, you can’t teach that stuff right? I’m also not the person to write about it! I lack empathy for others, I don’t believe in pity or prayer, I’m always the first one to say “no” yet I always feel like I have to provide a reason for my answer, I’m loud, I have trouble with authority, I like being the boss and if I’m not the boss I don’t want any part of it! I’m basically a 4 year old who won’t share her toys on the playground.” I exclaimed, as I elbow slammed my new box of wine trying to get it open, something I had learned from my mother years ago.
He shrugged, went back to eating, and we started talking about when on earth he was going to find time to hang the kitchen cabinets that have been down since the week before Lexi was born.
The next night, I was snuggling with Lexi watching Toy Story, because we are trying so hard to get her to like a movie other than Lilo & Stitch. It’s overstayed it’s welcome and I need her to find something else to keep her attention, before mommy starts self medicating. I’ve always loved Toy Story. It was the first movie I can actually remember understanding as a child. I always identified with Woody. Natural leader, know it all, doesn’t like change, and hates anyone who disagrees with him. Buzz always drove me nuts. He was aloof, materialistic and just couldn’t keep out of shit that didn’t involve him. Lexi fell asleep early on in the movie which either meant that it was good enough to put her to sleep, or bad enough to put her to sleep. Either way I considered it a win because I knew I didn’t have to hear “Hawaiian Roller Coaster Ride” over the baby monitor that night.
Naturally, I laid in bed letting the rest of the movie play while I scrolled through my phone. Let me just say, working in Direct Sales makes you DESPISE scrolling. Every single time you open ANY app, your mindset changes from “let’s see what memes so-and-so is sharing” to “let’s post for this party, or answer back this message or get my comments in for the day so my algorithm stays up and oh, I didn’t go live yesterday so let me share a video from a week ago”. When you make money from your couch, (I also feel the need to add that I proof read this TWICE before I caught the fact that I initially wrote “crotch” instead of “couch”, that would’ve been awkward but I guess it just justifies my original thought that sex = money), Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat, Twitter, Pinterest… They all become business tools. There’s no such thing as enjoyably scrolling. My mind constantly moves a mile a minute, especially during an end of the month push. Not that I’m complaining, it’s paying our bills every month, but, a normal person looks at scrolling through Facebook as a way to decompress or waste some time while people in Direct Sales look at leaving your phone upstairs as a way to unwind.
One thing I continuously noticed that night as I was working, was the amount of times I saw statuses like “I just can’t do this anymore” or “I hate XYZ about myself” or “no wonder why people don’t like me”. And I literally couldn’t believe what I was reading. Guys. I saw probably 15 statuses all posted at different times of the day, some from the same few people. All filled with self hate. Part of me wanted to comment so badly on those and say “girlfriend, if you came here for people to feel sorry for you, you’ve jumped on the wrong train because self loathing and I DON’T agree!” or to tell them “to get over themselves and MOVE ON!” Like, no shit nobody likes you! Look at the type of self hate you’re promoting?
That was when I knew exactly what I would write about. With my husband working late, I sat downstairs by candle light and started writing on my notepad. I was trying to channel my inner Hemingway, but instead of whiskey and a cigarette, I had ice water and a baby monitor. I prefer not to drink when I write. Mostly because I will try and make sense of the jumbled up chicken scratch I had jotted down the night before, and usually get nowhere. My handwriting isn’t good to begin with. Adding alcohol makes it worse.
One thing that makes me physically ill is self pity. Maybe it’s because I believe that there are other ways to go about expressing your issues other than feeling sorry for yourself. But also maybe it’s because I never let myself get there in the first place. Trust me. There are things right now that I could DEFINITELY put as VIP guests to my pity party. I could waste an entire day, or weeks, or months feeling sorry over the fact that my husbands job title might change, and they might cut his pay in half, which would be devastating for our family. I could cry day and night over the fact that FOUR doctors later and I’m still dealing with constant joint pain, and extreme fatigue which is keeping me from working which if my husband loses his job, that means I will be the sole provider for my family. But I can’t do that if I’m not healthy enough to work! I could lose sleep knowing that no matter what I do, this weight is not leaving my body as fast as I want it to and I am 194.6 pounds. I have never been that heavy in my life. I might as well consider myself to be the size of a small apartment building. I could just go into hiding over the fact that my goal this month was to stay consistent with my business every single day, and I feel like even though it’s only the first week in June, I’ve let myself down tremendously.
But I don’t. I don’t cry. I don’t hide. I don’t wallow in self pity. It’s just a season I’m in. I like to think of all the different seasons in your life as different teams. You have your mom days, where you need your momma tribe. You have your business days, where you need your bossbabes. You have your marriage days, where you need your spouse. But what’s the one person in common on every single one of these teams?
YOU have to be on your own team! You’re the freaking team captain of your life! SHOW UP FOR YOURSELF! Let every victory, no matter how big or small be celebrated! Those other teams wouldn’t be there if it wasn’t for you. So why should you rely SOLELY on them to pick you up when you’re feeling down? If you wait for other people to save you, you’re going to drown and more than likely, take a few others with you. You need to save yourself. My husband might lose his job? Ok, no problem, there is another job that’s been begging him to come work for them anyways. Cool, my body hates me? Use my rest time to rest, and when I get a burst of feel-good energy, use every ounce of it and make it work for me! Feelin’ a little chubby? So what? There are people out there that would hear that I weigh 194.6 pounds and WISH they could be that small. Stuck in a rut with your business? You think that didn’t happen to J.K Rowling, or Steve Jobs? If you believe it didn’t, than you’re a lunatic. We need to stop planning to fail. Plan B’s are a joke. They are the participation trophies of life. We think that if we have a Plan B, we can take as long as we want to wallow in our own turmoil because somewhere, somehow this magical, theoretical blueprint will fall out of the sky and all will be saved.
Take Buzz Lightyear for example. As much as that guy drove me nuts, he TRULY believed he could fly. He didn’t start the movie going “Ok I’m like 99% sure I can fly, but just in case I can’t, here’s what I’m going to do!”. If he would’ve done that, there wouldn’t have been a movie. BUZZ DIDN’T HAVE A BACKUP PLAN. And even when he found out that he COULDN’T fly, he had to snap himself out of desperation (with the help of Woody, duh!), AND ADJUST TO THE OBSTACLES THAT WERE THROWN AT HIM!
Guys. HE FUCKING ENDED UP FLYING.
So stop crying over spilled milk. Don’t like your living situation? Move. Fat? Try and get healthy. Depressed? Go to therapy and take your medication and have ZERO shame in doing so. Angry? Learn to laugh. Boyfriend won’t marry you? Leave. There is an answer for everything in life, and it results in falling with style.
Until next time, Divas.